In Time
by Addison Miller
Summary: Sterek. Future. Short fluffy fic of a happy ending to a long winded story I may finish (or properly start) someday. I liked the ending too much to hide it.


Derek couldn't help but feel more than a little satisfied. It was bound to happen. Enough… hurt had been branded to his heart that he was bound to get something in return. If the universe was fair, and he always believed it was (people still didn't peg him as a romantic), he was due for a slice of happiness.

Stiles let out a huff, his lips slanting into a smile. "Big guy. Come on." He said and it took Derek a moment to realize Stiles was speaking to him. He looked older now, hair grown wild and untamed, jaw firmer and arms steadier than he's ever seen them. He's taller too; as he slid next to Derek with practiced ease he was a breadth above him and he could tell the move was gloating. As always Derek was surprised to feel Stiles's spider-like fingers weaving with his own, and like always Stiles scoffs.

(As always) Stiles gives him a tentatively warm smile accompanied with, "Surprised I haven't left you yet?"

Derek squeezes the hand and leads him toward the festivities, pleased at the contact. Knees, hips, elbows, shoulders. It was almost rhythmic the way they fell into sync.

"Who am I kidding you think of yourself too highly." Stiles said to himself, passing the attendant the entrance fee and getting two tickets in return. Derek watches him, disbelieving that this kid this boy this pain in the ass was all _his._ It was wonderful and sickening all at once.

Last time he checked he was due for a little happiness.

Stiles had a new scar around his left eye, and it snaked across his cheekbone where it blended with the healed gash on his crooked nose. He was a mess, but he always healed whole. When they were swallowed up in the crowd Derek traced his free hand along the scar, winding his pointer finger into his eyebrow. Stiles let out a huff of laughter, giving Derek a sidelong glance. "At some point I'm going to have so many scars they'll cover my whole body. Then I can start new again." He said the stupidest things sometimes. And he talked far too much. And he couldn't sit still during a movie. And he was the shittiest at trying to be quiet while tailing people. But he was Derek's. And that was enough for him.

Somewhere between the cotton candy and the Ferris wheel they separate hands. Derek misses the contact so he presses alongside him during the teacups. Shoulder to shoulder, knees touching. How it should be. Stiles says nothing because by god he's used to this. He likes it, and can't help but wonder if he was always destined to be compatible with the only things in life that were beyond human. If he was meant to be with werewolves or if it was simply out of environment. He loved it either way.

"I can't believe you're mine." Derek said quietly in that way that makes Stiles's breath hitch. Stiles found that Derek had a knack for surprisingly honest admissions out of nowhere, and it still made him feel all warm and fuzzy when Derek got too embarrassed to speak aloud.

"Hey, Stilinskis aren't property." Stiles said jokingly, he could joke his way out of a Nazi interrogation if god was on his side. Derek kissed the back of Stiles's hand, and he didn't say 'I love you' but Stiles felt it all the same.

"Where else would I go?" Stiles said later, in the darkness of the bedroom. Their hands were together again, and their bodies were touching in every available place. Derek was like a goddamn furnace but Stiles knew that he needed to touch and Stiles'd be damned if he ignored Derek's needs.

"Anywhere. Anyone would take you." And Derek was so serious it wasn't cheesy, and he had this way of being so honest that Stiles stammers until he finds his voice again.

"Why would I want to?" Stiles can't believe it either. He's used to temporary. He's used to being helpful. He can dress wounds now and he can multitask like a motherfucker but that's not what Derek is asking from him. Derek is asking for his presence, he just wants Stiles to be there because he loves Stiles and he wants to be pressed up against him for the rest of his life.

Some people might call it needy, but Stiles was never asked of that before.

"I can't believe you're mine." Stiles says, burying his head in the crook of Derek's neck. He can feel Derek's fingers tracing his battle scars, the angry knot on his left shoulder, the thin lines traveling across his spine. Bandages around his middle to cover fresh wounds from an old fight. Stiles fought for this life. He fought hard. There was nothing more that he wanted from the universe now, and he was willing to compromise, to get hurt and feel pain for it to continue this way. He knows after a while Derek will abject to fighting, and Stiles won't mind because he loves him and he knows it's for his own good. Or they'll die soon and their peaceful bliss of heaven will be cut tragically short. Stiles didn't care. He had this moment and death couldn't take that from him.

Stiles kisses him to tell Derek this and it's like all their other kisses, slow and practiced and reminiscent of telling each other their secrets.

They deserved this. At least for a while. Stiles's battle wounds would reopen and soon one scratch will be his last but it doesn't matter.

This was enough.


End file.
